


not twilight

by forkswashington



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16257812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forkswashington/pseuds/forkswashington
Summary: this is totally not a rewritten twilight that combines life and death and my own writing





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i will be doing this in parts bc it's time consuming!

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months— but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

This was nothing like the accident I imagined. Accidentally stepping in front of a car, accidentally swallowing my tongue, accidentally slipping on a bed of ice. 

Accidentally hunted by a bloodthirsty, tracker vampire was not on my list of possible ways to die.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Before I could blink, his tall frame obscured my view of the studio, blocking the array of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I would not watch my death.

James leaned in, his curiosity growing as he took a step closer, listening to my heart pumping faster, gushing with the blood he craved. Urging me to press against the mirror behind my back, he breathed in the scent of my neck, taking in a quick breath--a sampling of what was to come.

The danger I felt now was nothing like the fear I felt when I when I met Edward. This danger took the idea of eternity and crushed it with bare hands. Edward, somewhere searching for me, not knowing our forever was ending as he called my name. Forever ending at the will of a rampant feeder, a monster nothing like the clever family on my trail.

I was wrong--I could not save myself, but I could not be saved by anyone else. If Edward's family burst through the double doors, I would beg for a quick death because I knew he would be unstoppable, that James' hunt would come to a close only if my life did. The sacrifice of my life to protect the Cullens would be my last offering to this world. 

I focused on my mother’s voice muffled by closed doors, repeating, calling my name for the help I would never give her. Maybe James wasn't lying, maybe he would leave my mother alone, maybe that single generosity wasn't lost to him. I could no longer hope for this happy ending if I wanted to be reasonable. I became weaker at each call, my life minutes closer to ending and my mother's, too.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

But only if she lived. There is nothing noble about a wasted death and everything shameful about two.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.


	2. chapter 1, first passages of first sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. She sung along, off-key, to the only cassette she owned. Sometimes she paused, turning to look at me with tears in her big eyes. I reached over, placing my hand on hers, less worried about us driving off the road than losing this moment.   
It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt—sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka. 

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. 

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks. 

Yet, somehow, I now sent myself off to finish up the rest of high school there, a year and a half of doing hard time. It felt like a prison sentence, like I was both the defendant and the judge. When I slammed the old station wagon door behind me at the airport, it made a sound like the clang of iron bars locking into place. Sure, I may have been a bit melodramatic--after all, this was my choice, self-imposed for the benefit of my mother. 

She once said I had an overactive imagination from “all those books” I read, and I was starting to believe her. 

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. I loved being with my mom, where I was needed. I loved the library down the street from our small, two bedroom house. I loved when I checked out too many books to carry around and I would break out in a sweat, my t-shirt sticking to my back as the sun relentlessly sent down its rays. I loved the scenery, warm like my mom's voice. I appreciated the dry air, my long hair not staying wet for long after a cool shower. I loved waving to my neighbors. Talking to the women at the bank. My literature teacher, Ms. Watson, who gave me the dog-eared copy of Romeo and Juliet that always stayed close to me, especially during the ride to the airport. I even loved the kids I sat next to at lunch who wouldn't bother me as I read. I did not love goodbyes. 

"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I think I don't look much like my dad except for our coloring, his full lips. Young, she is more like a sister than a mom. We get that all the time, and I know she loves it even if she pretends otherwise. 

I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. I'd been taking care of my mom for what seemed like my whole life. She had the help of my grandparents when I was still in diapers, but soon after, it seems, I was in charge the bills, paperwork, cooking and general level-headedness. I couldn’t remember a life before that. 

How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? It seemed like the right decision, although I had been struggling for months to make it. But it was beginning to feel wrong now. 

She didn't need me as much anymore. Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it takes a long time to make these edits so be patient for the rest of this chapter! it will be in pieces!


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